


Episode 2: I Hate This Planet!

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Black Sun (Star Wars), Clan Ordo, Clone Wars era, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, OCs - Freeform, Tatooine (Star Wars), moisture farmer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-18 10:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "Dear journal, today is day...ah who's counting anymore. I'm bored! And who's idea was it to give me a journal??"~ Fent.After nearly a month rooting around on Tatooine, things may finally get interesting.





	Episode 2: I Hate This Planet!

Two sacks full of fruits and canned goods hit the ground with a muffled thud. A crate of jerky slid across the floor towards the wall with another sliding alongside it. Dawn was barely breaking over the trees, casting the hilltop scouting post in a faint pink light. Dirt and dust swirled around the sacks as they were lifted again and repositioned against the wall by the crates. A figure clad in orange and teal armor stepped over another set of bags and approached a similarly dressed figure by the bay window. A slight breeze ruffled the feathers dangling from the beaded belt at his waist; he stiffened at the wind’s icy touch. Her back to him was rigid, the warrior’s furs rippling gently across her shoulders, and a jade comb set high in her bun glinted dully in the minimal lighting; the burns on her face barely visible under her fierce yellow eyes.  
“Ba’tuk Haria’n,” he addressed her, standing at attention with his arms behind his back, “Your ship is ready. Naal’ya. See it.”  
Her eyes traveled down the dense treeline to the landing pad nestled between the forest and the river. A set of worn, jagged teeth slid across the tiles of her jade pectoral as she looked over her shoulder to regard him.  
“Vaal ta’soah,” she commanded in a worn, hoarse voice, “Wait for my word.”

Aside from the whirring of the water tanks and the distant sound of an Eopie caravan, the night was as still as it always was. The first few were tortue. Both hunters were used to the cacophony of planets like Corellia and Nar Shaddaa. Tatooine was too quiet, even in the major cities if you could call them that. Hunting here wasn’t quite as glamorous as their comrades made it out to be. Sure there were plenty of scum to go around, but every speeder chase ended in a dune standoff or a near miss with a sarlacc. No speeder chases around skyscrapers or daring escapes from industrial chemical plants. Just sand. Lots of sand and sand covered people. Nothing particularly wrong with sand, but Fent was tired of it.  
Sitting up, he buried his fingers in his hair and shook vigorously, dislodging a few grains still clinging to his scalp. Beon groaned, rolled over, and covered his head with his pillow.  
“Can’t do that in the refresher?” he yawned.  
“Maybe I only remember when I’m wide awake for the, oh I don’t know, eightieth night in a row,” Fent snapped, shaking his hair again and slamming his palms against his face, “Can we please put the noise machine on?”  
Beon rolled over, careful not to crush his lekku, “You know I can’t sleep with that thing on.”  
“And you know I always wait until you’re asleep to start it up.”  
“It wakes me up almost immediately.”  
“Well maybe you should sleep harder!”  
“You’re just cranky because you’re addicted to caf. Why don’t-”  
“Again with the caf,” Fent dragged his fingers down his cheeks, “Di’kut you drink it too.”  
“Hey now, I drink half as much as you do,” he replied defensively, “Plus it’s all that sugar you put in it anyways.”  
Fent groaned loudly and collapsed back onto his cot.  
“I hate this planet,” he moaned, rolling over and kicking the blankets onto the floor, “Why couldn’t we stay on Hoth?”  
The Twi’lek chuckled and sat back against the rough wall, “You miss that more than Corellia?”  
“Well yeah,” Fent rolled over, “Those shipyards and caves were our most lucrative scores. Between frozen tech and fugitives, we were living the high life.”  
“Yeah, but I nearly lost my lekku to frostbite.”  
“But you didn’t, did you?” Fent shot him a cheeky finger gun. Beon ignored it.  
“Living the high life, huh,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders relax, “I guess a thermal generator and crate full of meat was the high life.”  
“I miss meat.”  
“Then quit gobbling it up.”  
“You know how much I like your sister’s recipes.”  
“Then I won’t make it anymore.”  
“Are you cutting me off??”  
“Goodnight, vod.”  
~  
Cara swung her legs idly back and forth over the side off the fence, sewing a new button onto her brother’s old trousers. Once a ruddy brown color, they’d faded to a light tan in the harsh sunlight of the desert. The grease stains remained, however, but Cara figured that’s what gave it character. Her brother, Dovin, was long gone. He’d married into a wealthy family just to get off this planet. He sent postcards from exotic destinations and glamorous casinos; Cara kept them all on a board secured over her bed so she could look at them every night. His wide smile with that twinkle in his eyes always kept her going. Vaya, his wife… well she was okay. She loved her brother and that’s all that mattered.  
Cara swore as she missed the last hole, catching the side of her thumb instead. Her mother’s thimble, she realized, had fallen into the sand while she’d been daydreaming. With a sigh, and her injured thumb in her mouth, she hopped down and fished it out of the sand. She shook the loose grains free and wiped it on her shirt before assessing the damage to her thumb. It was minimal, sore but minimal. Her father would be back from the vaporators soon, so she’d have to hurry. It’d taken her the better part of a month to tailor and repair several pairs of her brother’s trousers and coveralls. They “didn’t have the money” to buy Cara more in her size, and since her brother’s were made out of sturdy material, she’d taken the opportunity to modify them to fit her. Currently, she was wearing the last of her own set. It was the same ruddy brown with grease stains and a bit of mud on her knees from accidentally spilling grey water from the waste tanks. She shuddered, trying to force the smell of the pipes out of her nose. With her brother gone, all his chores fell on her. She wasn’t upset with him for leaving them to her, for leaving her, but…  
“You could have said goodbye,” she said to no one, biting off the end of the string and tying the last knot.  
She held up her work, satisfied that the new button wouldn’t be as hard to fasten and unfasten given that it wasn’t holding back her brother’s gut but her- The howl of a speeder jerked her from her thoughts. It as coming from the east, from Mos Illa. Her father, she remembered, headed south that morning to check the machines. No one should be.. Her thoughts trailed off as she spotted two more speeders charging after the first in a triangle formation.

“I guess we could just contact Jiik,” Fent lazily spun a wrench on the table, salivating over the steam wafting from across the kitchen.  
“He said to wait,” Beon sang as he flipped the steak in the pan, “Besides-”  
The holotable to their right lit up, projecting the image of a tall Togruta with the tip of his left montril missing. The scar across his lower lip stretched as his face contorted into a cross between a snarl and a smile. His eyes were just as glazed as they remembered. He blamed it on all the flash-grenades from his time fighting in the civil war. They believed him.  
“Get going boys,” he clapped his hands, “Your targets are on the move at these coordinates.” He punched a few commands into a datapad; Beon heard his pad chime.  
“Move it! You might not want to be late to this one.”  
Fent, who’d shot to attention, fidgeted.  
“Sir when have we ever been late?”  
“No time for jokes. Get moving.”  
Jiik disappeared as quickly as he appeared. While Beon turned off the stove and jogged into the back room, Fent looked down at the coordinates on his wrist display.  
“Haar’chak!” he swore loudly, grabbing his helmet and rushing to meet Beon by the front door, “It’s Wiltso’s farm!”


End file.
